


endgame (the masquerade is over)

by iamthegeneralissimo



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, how do y’all write pron, just a lil angsty, or dialogue even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthegeneralissimo/pseuds/iamthegeneralissimo
Summary: Lena and Kara start to acknowledge there’s something going on between them, but Kara’s always up and running off someplace. So when Supergirl makes a pass, well…(also in which every queer gal in national city knows lena’s down with the lady lovin’ but she really only has eyes for catco’s cub reporter ft. mildly excessive drinking)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Like A Sexy Gay Billionaire Heiress Moth To A Flame.

Lena purses her lips before taking a long draw from her tumbler of whisky, relishing in the familiar sting and the way it stokes a warmth low in her belly. She adjusts herself on the barstool and takes a moment to stare at her reflection in the splashback, already picking out her next drink from a dizzying array of bottles.

 

She ventures a discreet look at the woman three seats down to her left who meets her gaze, the corners of her mouth tilting upward. There’s a gentleman next to her leaning in just a little too close, with hands wandering just a little too far, and when one lands on the woman’s knee to toy with the hem of her dress she stands up, whispers something into his ear and pats his shoulder.

 

Lena winces in sympathy.

 

She watches as the woman gathers up her purse and her drink, and saunters over. ‘Hey,’ comes a raspy greeting, again with that easy smile.

 

Lena’s fingers drum out a beat against the side of her glass. ‘Hey, yourself,’ she jerks her head back in the man’s direction, ‘you sure your friend won’t mind being left alone?’

 

The man gives them both a meek wave when he realizes they’re looking at him.

 

‘He’s not really my type,’ the woman wrinkles her nose— _adorable_ —and takes a step closer. Lena swivels to accommodate her so she can take a seat, their knees brushing together. ‘Oh, yeah?’ she grins, catching a heady whiff of perfume.

 

‘Yeah,’ she nods at Lena’s tumbler, which is bordering on empty. ‘Can I get you another one?’

 

And Lena acquiesces because the woman’s golden locks cascade down her back the same way she often pictures Kara’s might, if she ever let her hair down. They work through a round of drinks and idle chatter, and Lena’s pleased when the woman doesn’t rebuff the hand she runs up her thigh; before she knows it she’s being led to the dance floor.

 

‘Lucky I’ve a thing for leggy blondes,’ Lena slurs mostly to herself as she admires the shape of the woman’s calves and her strappy heels. The woman looks over her shoulder, ‘Can’t hear you—’ the speakers pump music Lena’s never heard before, in a tempo she knows she can’t dance to sober, ‘—what did you say?’

 

‘I said you’re really pretty,’ Lena reaches to brush her lips against the shell of one ear. She offers up the platitude with a gentle nip at the woman’s earlobe.

 

‘And you are devastatingly gorgeous,’ the woman responds, beaming. But Lena doesn’t need to be told to know this. She was decisive about wearing this sleeveless silk top with the plunging neckline, in a navy so deep it’s almost black. She knows exactly what she looks like. The perfect contrast of alabaster and obsidian. She knows exactly the kind of energy she wants to project. Cool. Impenetrable.

 

But perhaps not so much with this many drinks in.

 

They grind to the music, lock wine-stained lips in the rideshare back to her apartment and tumble into pristine white sheets like it’s routine and it is, at least for Lena. And in the morning, when the insistent buzzing annoys her enough to knock her phone off her side table, she allows herself to curve against the sleeping form next to her.

 

By the time she opens her eyes fully and drags herself out of bed and into the shower, the woman is gone. There’s an inconvenient, fleeting pang in her chest when she picks out a pale strand of hair from the pillow. _No more sleepovers_ , she vows.

 

She’s checking her phone and towelling her hair when she notices the alert from earlier. _Voicemail from Kara Danvers._

 

‘Hey, boss,’ Kara’s voice is chirpy, entirely unaffected by the digital rendering, ‘wanna grab some coffee before work?’

 

/

 

By some miracle, Lena beats Kara to the cafe. She pushes her sunglasses farther up the bridge of her nose to better ogle her approaching friend.

 

Kara, whose bright, sleeveless dress is some sort of middle finger to an unseasonably cool morning. Kara, whose cheeks dimple as she squeezes past every single person in the line. Kara, to whom people are inexplicably apologizing as she carves a path to Lena. Kara, with whom she is hopelessly, irrevocably smitten.

 

‘Good morning, Lena—whoa,’ Kara presses her hand into the small of Lena’s back and tries to peer under the lenses, grinning when she squirms, ‘late night?’

 

‘More like very early morning,’ Lena mutters, cursing her body’s very specific response to seeing Kara Danvers in pastel, knees bare. Or in her playful, patterned oxford button downs and the corduroys which fit her just _right_ . Lena tries not to picture unbuckling the flimsy belt Kara’s so fond of and ignores the growing warmth between her legs. _It’s way too early for this shit._

 

Kara lets out a little whoop, or more accurately a fairly loud and enthusiastic outburst that draws the attention of at least nine other people in the cafe. ‘Tell me _everything_ ,’ her voice dropping to a sort-of whisper. ‘Was he good?’

 

‘Ah, well,’ Lena clears her throat, rifling through the snack bin, willing her hands to pick up something, anything, because she’s tired tired of hiding and there’s no turning back now. ‘She certainly wasn’t terrible.’

 

And she wants it to be a lie but it hardly is when she remembers the way the woman did that thing with her tongue and the surprising amount of strength in the hands which enclosed her neck. She fiddles with her collar; the warmth of Kara’s palm against her back is pleasant, but distracting, and it seeps through her shirt.

 

All hope of Kara not realizing the shift in pronouns dissipates when she whips her head around so fast, Lena’s surprised it doesn’t swivel off her neck entirely. She’s suddenly very bothered by the layout of the beverage menu. _Sans serif really is better for readability. And what even is the difference between a flat white and a latte?_

 

‘I didn’t know you—’ Kara withdraws her hand.

 

Not out of disgust, Lena hopes, as her stomach drops. She can’t quite read the expression on Kara’s face. Stunned? Hopeful? Or _could it be_ , she wonders, _sweet, naive Kara Danvers, an actual bigot?_

 

‘—and didn’t think it was important, so I never told you,’ Lena shrugs, fixing the cashier with her broadest, least intimidating smile and orders cappuccinos for both of them. She picks out seven different danishes for Kara, as an afterthought.

 

The wait is blessedly short. She takes a sip of her coffee and notices the first few digits of a phone number written on her lid; she looks up at the two baristas on the machine, heads bowed and hands working fast, then at the cashier who catches her eye and flashes her a wink.

 

‘But it is important,’ Kara murmurs belatedly, clutching the bag of pastries Lena thrusts into her hands with an impatient noise. _It could have gone worse,_  Lena supposes.

 

/

 

‘Good morning, James,’ Kara calls brightly when they enter the CatCo lobby just a few minutes later. He collects a stack of mail from the front desk before turning around to greet them.

 

‘None for me,’ he notes, smirking at their coffee cups, ‘I see how it is, Danvers.’ He feigns a punch to Kara’s shoulder before extending the same hand to Lena. ‘Ms. Luthor. The editorial meeting’s this way.’

 

‘I’ll catch up, I just have to grab a cardigan from my desk,’ Kara’s hand drops to squeeze Lena’s but she pulls her back, ‘Kara wait, you have—’ Lena reaches to brush pastry flakes from the corner of Kara’s mouth.

 

‘My hero,’ Kara grins, and there’s a flash of pink tongue. Lena watches her walk away, working hard to steady her nerves whilst mourning the impending coverage of Kara’s bare arms. James clears his throat behind her.

 

‘Lead the way, Mr. Olsen,’ she sighs.

 

He shows her to a conference room where half the people at the table stand up to offer their chairs. ‘As you were,’ she says, tone gracious, electing instead to lean against the back wall and observe. Kara shuffles into the room and makes her way over to where Lena is standing, just as the city editor drones on about the latest crime statistics.

 

But Lena’s only half listening, wondering if maybe acquiring an entire company to impress a girl was on the extravagant side of the gift-giving scale: she really had no idea, frowning now. But she’d started with flowers like any sensible admirer, she just wasn’t sure which ones were Kara’s favorite so, erring on the side of extreme caution, she filled Kara’s entire cubicle with arrangements from a few of National City’s most well-regarded florists. She’d picked and signed for them herself, mouth tugging upward when one of the attendant’s hands lingered on hers as she handed over a pen.

 

‘If there’s anything you need, Ms. Luthor,’ the woman sounded breathless, as though scribbling a string of numbers on the back of the shop card warranted a concerted effort, ‘please call.’

 

It certainly wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world to ask Jess to extend her lunch hour later that week and let herself be led into the back room and pressed against a locked door. But she couldn’t help but feel like the butt of some cosmic joke when her thoughts drifted, as the woman kicked off her heels and knelt at her feet, to Kara. Like they did more and more as of late.

 

 _Why couldn’t it be her instead?_ She gathered fistfuls of dark hair and ground out her frustration.

 

She had Kara’s number already, of course, and she certainly felt entitled as Kara’s friend to contact her before, during and after business hours—a lovely perk. But how she felt about Kara was decidedly unfriendly even if her frame of reference for platonic relationships between women was slim. Friends shouldn’t want to bury their faces in between each other’s thighs, she knew as much.

 

So she allowed herself to consider, in that moment, what her world might look like if she had at least one other friend—the woman skimming her hands under her shirt, perhaps—you know, at least one other person to whom she might be able to admit how she really felt about Kara without fearing the repercussions. Another friend to turn to, one who would happily speak to Kara on her behalf and help propel them into an elevated phase of friendship.

 

 _If only._ In reality, here she was, stuck between a rock and Kara’s suspiciously firm musculature.

 

(She watches the arts and culture desk squabble with the national reporters over the last bagel. Kara looks on, licking her lips.)

 

What they had was pretty much a relationship anyway, minus the sex. For Kara Danvers was the very definition of tactile: always reaching for some part of Lena’s body in reassurance, in concern, in comfort, and enveloping her in admittedly very exceptional hugs. They’d been on brunches, plural: everywhere from white-linen, thoroughly modern establishments housed in heritage listed buildings, to the nondescript diner on 48th where the pancake stacks were ‘worth murdering Alex for’. There were movie nights and show marathons aplenty: each time getting closer and closer to being honest about how she truly felt about stupid, bloody, wholesome Kara Danvers. Painfully straight, and therefore unavailable, Kara Danvers.

 

Applause snaps her out of her reverie as James hands the room over to her. She closes the meeting, thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication, and tries to cut off a second round of applause with a wave of her hand. She makes her exit with Kara in tow, and they pick their way through the newsroom to her desk.

 

‘I really like these banksias,’ Kara says, gesturing to a large, dry bud that didn’t look unlike a stout yellow candlestick but pokier. ‘I mean, every single arrangement you sent was super nice, but that native Australian bouquet is freaking nuts.’

 

‘Let’s just hope there aren’t any redback spiders hiding around in there, eh?’ Lena peers into the bunch of assorted foreign fauna before adding wistfully, ‘Be nice if Cate Blanchett was though.’

 

Kara sticks her tongue out, ‘She is pretty hot.’ She pulls a chair from the desk over and offers it to Lena before casually nudging her with a knee. ‘So, how come you never told me you dated women?’

 

Lena leafs through the closest available stack of papers and pretends to read. ‘I don’t. I mean, not really—I meet them. I sleep with them,’ she admits. ‘But I don’t date them.’

 

‘Lena Luthor,’ Kara teases, ‘lothario at large.’

 

Lena grimaces at the term more than the terrible alliteration, ‘It’s not like that at all. I’m just not looking for anything serious right now.’

 

‘Other than having your needs met, sure,’ Kara clears her throat and repeats gently, hand covering her own now, ‘Lena, how come you never told me you dated women?’

 

She notes the change in inflection and doesn’t look up, not for a long time. Lena’s spent an entire lifetime practicing how to hide in plain sight, discretion being just another tool in her arsenal, but Kara’s gaze is so earnest she lets the tension bleed from her shoulders. The newsroom’s cadence fades around her like the rest of the world always seems to when she’s around Kara. ‘I was scared,’ Lena closes her eyes and whispers, hoping Kara has super hearing and won’t make her say it twice, ‘to lose you as a friend.’

 

‘You know that’s never going to happen, not if I can help it,’ Kara caresses the inside of her wrist smiling now, ‘you’re stuck with me forever, Ms. Luthor.’ And Lena looks up because something in Kara’s voice changes, morphing into a riddle she can’t quite decode.

 

It may well be an empty promise, but something inside her swells and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. ‘I should head off, do my actual job—run my company, you know,’ she grabs her coat and takes a moment to check her phone. ‘Are we still on for brunch this weekend?’

 

‘Yes, ma’am!’ sunny Kara reappears, looking over the rim of her glasses, ‘unless other plans have just come up?’ She looks almost gleeful. Lena could just kiss her.

 

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she’s feeling brave now, invincible, and the weekend seems a lifetime away, so what the hell—she leans in to press her lips to Kara’s cheek, if only to capture the scent of fresh linen she always seems to carry around her. She can’t help but feel like she’s earned this, at least. ‘Thanks for not freaking out about this.’

 

‘Hey, Lena?’

 

Her breath hitches, not for the first time that morning, when she looks back at Kara. Kara whose megawatt smile is both a kiss from the sun and a punch to the gut, rolled into one. So a bargain, really.

 

‘Yes, darling?’ the term slips out and she only turns around halfway, willing the flush creeping up her neck to disappear. She’d like to think these affectations a part of her speech, as much as the soft lilt in her accent: a play for warmth in turn, or a bid for the type of intimacy she so desperately covets.

 

Kara looks pleased, pink creeping up her own neck, ‘Thank you for trusting me.’

 

/

 

‘Quick, Lena!’ Kara cries. ‘You’re missing it.’

 

‘I know, I know,’ Lena huffs, folding herself into Kara’s worn sofa, ‘I’m right here.’ She sips delicately at her glass of wine, smoothing out non-existent creases in her pencil skirt and sparing a glance at Kara spooning frosting into her mouth straight from the tin. ‘It’s thematic,’ she announced earlier, eyes already fixed on The Great British Bake Off.

 

It’s the third time she’s been at Kara’s apartment this week, having worked overtime most days and actively avoiding the quiet sterility of her own living quarters. Here, Lena can marvel at the mismatched cushions and assorted knick knacks which occupy every available surface and feel at ease. Here, Lena can truly feel like she’s come home. Her eyes land on a collection of riverbed stones and Midvale memorabilia, and she wonders what she’s done to deserve someone like Kara Danvers.

 

Kara reaches for a patchy fleece throw as the contestants onscreen fidget before a panel of judges. Lena can just make out the toes of her mismatched socks. ‘Kara,’ she steals another glance, reaching for the bow of Kara’s lip, ‘you’ve frosting on—’

 

‘Huh?’ Kara turns her head and Lena feels the tip of her finger press into the apple of Kara’s cheek. It should be comical, like a practical joke children might perform on one another: a tap on the shoulder, the abrupt turn of a head, the soft indentation of flesh. Boisterous laughter, before life moves on.

 

But there’s only silence at first, then a nervous titter. Lena pulls her hand away but not before Kara presses her lips against the pad of her finger. Her eyes widen as Kara’s close, seemingly of their own volition.

 

Then Kara’s eyes snap open, iridescent pools of blue holding her hostage. Her face inscrutable, then apologetic, placating. Lena resists the urge to observe the last of the day’s light playing across Kara’s skin as, _ugh_ , sparkling, but no other term comes to mind.

 

Lena can’t breathe for wanting, but the moment passes and they watch Jameela Jamil fussing over her merengue in contemplative silence for the rest of the evening.

 

(The frosting still clings to the corner of Kara’s mouth when Lena brings herself to leave at last.)

 

/

 

‘Holy motherforking’—Kara muffles something else into her pancake stack that sounds a lot to Lena like ‘shirtballs’—‘these are good.’ Alex makes a face before taking a sip of her coffee, ‘You kiss our mother with that mouth?’

 

Lena smiles into her own mug. Danvers banter is her favorite type of banter.

 

Maggie Sawyer sits across from her, cheeks dimpling and fixing Alex with a look Lena recognizes and is only mildly jealous of compared to all the other times she’s observed the two.

 

Nothing before her resembles what she remembers of Luthor family meals: austere events, heavy with decorum. As a child she would fiddle with the stiff linen in her lap, curious about other families and whether they ate their meals this way too, never knowing anything else but the formalities of silverware and fine china. She pictures Lex’s face and the sternness in his eyes, _you have to eat_ , his concern for her wellbeing coloring her recollection.

 

‘We should do this more often,’ Kara suggests, looking over at her companions warmly, ‘it’s kind of like a double-date,’ she giggles.

 

Lena stays the hand that wants to brush powdered sugar from the bow of Kara’s upper lip. She’s entitled to this gesture only once a fortnight, she resolves.

 

‘You and Lena aren’t dating though,’ Alex points out.

 

‘No, we’re not,’ they respond at the same time. Alex and Maggie share a look out of the corner of their eyes. Oblivious, Kara nudges her with her foot, ‘Jinx.’

 

Lena smiles weakly. She ignores the scald as she tips the rest of her coffee into her mouth, eyes watering when she stands up and excuses herself. The napkin she’s folded onto her lap out of sheer habit drops to the sticky linoleum below.

 

She pretends not to hear the sound of heavy boots that follow her into the bathroom.

 

‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ comes Maggie’s voice.

 

‘I beg your pardon?’

 

‘The way you look at Kara.’

 

‘And how exactly, Detective Sawyer,’ steel tempering her cadence, ‘do I look at Kara?’

 

‘Maggie’s fine, _Miss_ Luthor,’ again with those blasted dimples. She pumps the soap dispenser and lathers her hands, ‘I’m just saying, you should tell her.’

 

‘Tell her _what_?’

 

‘How you feel,’ Maggie rinses, rips off way too many paper towels, her smile never once fading, ‘if only to get her to shut up about you. Alex and I are kind of tired of hearing how brilliant and pretty you are, and how good you smell—no offense, I’m sure you smell like a million bucks.’

 

A pause. _Billions of bucks, Sawyer._ ‘She thinks I’m pretty?’

 

‘Oh, my god,’ Maggie rolls her eyes, ‘it’s so much worse than I thought.’

 

/

 

Another Saturday night rolls around and Lena spends exactly thirty-eight minutes trying to decide which silk shirt in her wardrobe looks the gayest. She spends twenty-six of those thirty-eight minutes practicing how she might ask Kara out in the mirror, and twelve developing a practical framework for her gay-shirt-criteria.

 

Her phone buzzes. _Message from Kara Danvers._ Lena thumbs past the lock screen— _hey so—_ to watch the grey ellipses disappear and pop up repeatedly.

 

_since i know you for sure like girls_

 

She’s kept this part of her secret for so long, her heart sings when she thinks about how freeing it is for Kara to finally know. To know this part of her, at least; the rest of the Luthor clan’s secrets she’ll keep under lock and key for as long as she can, thank you very much.

 

 _and you seem to have a thing for leggy blondes_ … _it’s totally breaking every rule in the book but catco has cate blanchett’s number on file and_ —Lena rolls her eyes, her own disappointment catching her by surprise— _i wouldn’t mind giving it to you in exchange for something_

 

Lena manages to count to seven before typing out a reply. _Anything._

 

_let’s have dinner tomorrow. you and me._

 

Her world stops spinning.

 

_You mean like… a platonic dinner, right?_

 

_i mean like a date. this is me asking you out on a date-date._

 

The barrage of emojis that follow makes her laugh and helps steady her hand somewhat as she taps out her response.

 

_How could I say no?_

 

_oh, but you can, lena! say no, i mean. consent is super sexy — but i’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now…_

 

_thursday night. 6.30pm._

 

Another phalanx of emojis.

 

She surveys her bar cart and wonders why nothing, amongst the tens of thousands of dollars worth of liquor and crystalware, could slake her very particular, fast encroaching thirst.

 

‘Damned if I don’t try though,’ she mutters. Maybe she’s been wrong this whole time. Maybe it hasn’t been a charade at all that they’ve been playing. Maybe Kara Danvers is endgame.

 

/

 

It’s days later and of course, Kara cancels half an hour before their date—something about helping Alex out on her caseload. She tries not to feel too jilted as she shakes her head at the maitre d’ poised with a laden tray. They try to reschedule but Kara can’t make it the second time either because, ‘ _snapper is being a butt_ ’.

 

(In fact, she doesn’t see much of Kara for the rest of the week.)

 

The third Lena chalks up to a clash in her own schedule: she’s forced to scramble the L-Corp jet and personally attend to some of the company’s high speed rail projects in Korea. It’s a long shot, she knows, but she whips out her phone to message Kara anyway.

 

_You could come with me. Just for the weekend. And be back in Mr. Carr’s arms by Monday._

 

Still, Kara can’t.

 

_Would it help if I offer to buy you all the dumplings in Seoul? Do you have any idea how big they make them?_

 

_i’m sorry lena, i’m so so sorry_

 

Jess closes the cabin door and chats with the pilot briefly while Lena catches up on the news. Supergirl flits across the screen of her tablet and she watches, enraptured, she’s sure, much like the rest of National City.

 

/

 

Lena throws a thin blanket over her shoulders before heading out to the balcony of her hotel room, nursing a tumbler of scotch. She surveys the Seoul skyline, wondering if Kara is thinking about her at all. ‘Drinking is never the solution,’ she mutters to herself, savoring a mouthful of amber liquid.

 

Then she curses under her breath because she sees her first before her ears register a disruption to the sound barrier, ‘Sweet motherfucking _jesus_ —’

 

Familiar red boots hover inches above the balcony railing. ‘Fresh _hotteok_?’ Supergirl holds out a brown paper bag, the smell of fried dough and caramelized sugar wafting over her.

 

‘Kind of busy wallowing here,’ Lena raises her glass in Supergirl’s direction by way of explanation, ‘but thanks anyway.’ The smell reminds her of donuts and it pervades the air even as she takes a step back into the room. After a beat, she takes the bait. ‘Fresh _what_?’

 

Supergirl tilts her head and fixes Lena with a look. Her face is freshly scrubbed and her hair slightly damp from the shower. She’s never been much of a pyjama gal and part of her wants to ask Supergirl to close her eyes while she fishes for something more appropriate in her suitcase. ‘I’m not exactly _dressed_ for company,’ she draws the blanket around her tighter, a shiver running down her spine. Really, she’s not dressed at all. Supergirl blinks once, hard. _X-ray vision_ , Lena reminds herself, feeling very much exposed in her underwear and tank top.

 

‘Korean stuffed pancakes,’ Supergirl soldiers valiantly on, ‘Kara says she’s sorry she couldn’t make it and she hopes my presence might be a good enough substitute for hers.’ Lena doubts this at first, then she’s flashed with impossibly disarming smile and she thinks, _maybe_. This is a different Supergirl to the one she’s used to watching on the news, somehow brighter and less distant than the one she’s accustomed to receiving on her nighttime visits. As though there’s some hidden dial for god-mode that she can turn up or down. As though she were almost human.

 

‘Kara even gave me money for it,’ Supergirl tries again, still holding out the bag, ‘I had to stand in line and everything. And this suit doesn’t even have pockets.’ She gestures down at her body with a spare hand, adjusting something imperceptible on her belt.

 

Lena narrows her eyes before reaching into the crumpled paper. ‘Fine. But only because you had to stand in line,’ she takes a bite, chewing slowly, brow furrowing as she swallows. ‘Don’t you have, like, presidents to save? Baby foreheads to kiss?’

 

Supergirl shrugs. ‘It’s a Tuesday.’ Lena arches an eyebrow. Supergirl continues, ‘Kara was pretty torn up she couldn’t make it and I, uh, kind of owe her a favor.’

 

(Again her teeth sink into the sugary treat and she has to admit, it’s pretty good.)

 

‘Do you maybe need a hug?’ Both eyebrows threaten to disappear into her hair entirely now. ‘I’ve been told I give pretty good ones. At least, that’s what the kids at P.S. 118 tell me.’

 

Lena pretends to consider, like she hasn’t wondered what _that_ would feel like ever since Supergirl announced her existence to the world. She’s run her greedy hands up plenty of skirts before — but never one in this alluring, tempting shade of red — and she’s freed a whole expanse of skin from offending articles of clothing — but never a blue suit so tight it makes her own clothing tight and uncomfortable in all the right places… and not a single combination of woman or ensemble has ever made her quite as hungry as she was at that very moment. She looks down at the sugary treat in her hand and deems its function irreconcilable with her growing need.

 

‘No thank you,’ she walks primly to the mini-fridge when she remembers her manners and holds up a bottle of whisky. ‘Can I fix you something?’

 

‘Oh, no,’ Supergirl shakes her head, hands on her hips like she’s expecting a camera crew to pop out from behind the loveseat, ‘I don’t drink and fly.’ Lena laughs because it’s a terrible joke and she can’t help but picture Supergirl trying to fly in a straight line intoxicated, or doing any sort of queueing for street food, however tasty. _There’s definitely a switch for human too._

 

She tries to recall if there was ever anything in her files about mind-reading abilities when she hears Supergirl utter:

 

‘But I suppose it’d be rude not to accept.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback—heartwarming and encouraging stuff for someone just getting back into writing! This is all I can wring out of this story though. I have a stack of drafts I need to turn into proper work. See you on the flipside, lovelies!

Before Lena’s mind can catch up, Supergirl is behind her, impossibly close.

 

_What’s happening?_

 

Her head swims from the alcohol and she is deaf from the crescendo of her heartbeat, agonizing in the burn threatening to consume her whole. She’s painfully aware of hands skimming over her bare skin, blanket a foregone conclusion on the floor, and she sways thinking about the power coiled in the arms snaking around her.

 

Supergirl lets her palm rest directly over Lena’s heart, tapping an index finger to match its cadence as she makes a play for innocence, ‘Is everything alright, Ms. Luthor?’

 

No, they most certainly are not. ‘Yes,’ Lena breathes.

 

The heat that radiates from Supergirl reminds her of a pale day just weeks ago, one she’s nudging back into the recesses of her mind.

 

‘You’re, ah,’ Lena clears her throat, curling her bare toes against the rough carpet. ‘It’s just, you’re a little intimidating sometimes,’ she confesses because she doesn’t know what the standard operating procedure is for when a superhero tries to seduce you.

 

And the last thing she wanted was to be _rude,_  because she was raised better than that.

 

‘Am I?’ Supergirl implores, pressing her entire length against Lena’s back. ‘But I don’t mean to be.’

 

Lena can smell the cold on her, but Supergirl’s skin burns through her suit, penetrating the flimsy material of her tank top. Her hand slides further down, crossing her stomach to spin her around—none too gently and she is powerless to stop the whimper in her throat.

 

‘I’m,’—Supergirl’s fingertips dig into her hips—‘harmless.’

 

But Lena wonders if she should check for bruises all the same.

 

She’s beyond trying to figure out how they both got here because Supergirl starts to kiss her like she’s been waiting to do this all her life.

 

When they part for air, Lena’s eyes meet a familiar, arresting set of blue behind heavy lids. She ignores the tendrils of memory creeping in, threatening to ruin the moment.

 

‘Kara,’ Supergirl gasps, recalling for both of them. ‘What about—’

 

But for once Lena isn’t thinking about Kara Danvers at all. Right now Kara Danvers is a concept. An idea. So very intangible, unlike the insistent flex of muscle and sinew before her. Above her. Invading her senses.

 

How could she—Lena Luthor, mortal and heir to her family’s complex relationship with Supers—not submit herself to the god before her? Was she not bound by duty to follow in at least some of their footsteps?

 

Supergirl’s head dips again, closing the distance between them, and Lena gasps when she feels wet warmth slip past her lips. Lips which she parts, _dutifully._  Just so.

 

It’s rushed and it’s heated and it’s messy beyond imagination. _Perfect,_ Lena thinks, _then. Absolutely perfect,_ when she bucks her hips to meet the resistance of a firm thigh.

 

The moment lasts a lifetime and ends like it barely even started at all. A siren in the distance ruptures through her haze and all at once the unrelenting press of Supergirl, her maddening warmth, is gone.

 

‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, Lena—Ms. Luthor.’ Her jaw clenches. The attempt at distance feels like a slap in the face, but the formality sparks something entirely new deep within Lena.

 

Supergirl floats against a backdrop of stars, cape caught in the breeze, nodding once before disappearing.

 

‘I’m not,’ Lena whispers.

 

/

 

‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Kara whines, ‘let’s just go. It doesn’t even have to be anywhere fancy.’

 

Lena considers her for a moment, looking up from her tablet. Kara’s mouth is set in a firm line. She moves so fast, Lena doesn’t have time to swat her hands away from the intercom.

 

‘Jess, could you clear Ms. Luthor’s afternoon?’

 

‘... um,’ Jess crackles.

 

Lena can’t find it in her to glare, so she sighs for show. ‘You heard Ms. Danvers correctly,’ she leans a little closer into the mouthpiece, adding, ‘Thank you, Jess.’

 

‘And where would you like to go, Kara?’ Lena casts her thoughts to all the chefs she knows National City. There’s the redhead from the bathroom of that fundraiser a couple months ago, or the one she met at a medical conference in Chicago—the one with the part-time modeling career and just enough tattoos to make her feel safe-edgy.

 

But Kara just grins, slow. It’s maybe a little terrifying.

 

/

 

Turns out it’s just Kara Danvers and Big Belly Burger, and as far as first dates go it’s the best.

 

They’re in line and it’s like every other time they’ve been, except in this instance she barely notices the crush of people around her or the hum of activity. The cashier recites their order back to them and when Lena turns, she catches Kara exhaling into her palm and taking a quick sniff.

 

Kara looks mortified so Lena lets her win their brief squabble over who pays, just to make her feel better, and they slide into a booth in the back.

 

‘So tell me something I don’t already know about you,’ Lena asks as they unwrap their food, thinking if Kara had freckles she would have counted all of them by now.

 

Kara crams a handful of fries into her mouth and chews. ‘Well,’ comes the muffled response, ‘I hate exercise.’

 

‘I don’t think anyone truly enjoys it,’ Lena muses, smile entreating, ‘Something else, please.’

 

‘I played Robin Hood in a school play once.’

 

‘Cute.’

 

‘I threw Alex’s graphing calculator pretty far off a bridge because she kept telling me off for touching her stuff. Mom told me to stop being too precocious, like, what does that even mean?’

 

Lena clucks in sympathy, offering her a napkin.

 

Kara dabs at her chin and goes quiet, taking slow sips of her milkshake. Then, ‘I really like you.’

 

Lena looks up from her Cheesemeister Deluxe, ‘I like you too, Kara.’ She blinks.

 

‘Sometimes I think you forget, and you need me to remind you. I wish you wouldn’t.’

 

Lena decides when she goes home later that day, she’ll shade in the mood tracker chart her therapist started her on. The ones with the colored cells differentiating great days from good ones and have become an accidental log of her quarterly assassination attempts. Gradations of red and blue a testament to time spent with Kara. And Supergirl.

 

/

 

The kettle pierces through the crackle of the radio in her apartment. Lena listens to the announcer recount Supergirl’s latest heroics and lets out a low whistle, assembling a pot of tea and enough china for two on a tray. She pads over to her room where Kara is sprawled on her sheets.

 

‘Thanks for letting me crash,’ Kara mutters into the pillow when she hears Lena enter, ‘so many things to do, so little time.’

 

Lena doesn’t much care for the reasons Kara fumbled her way into her bed, or even if it’s an excuse at all to just be near her.

 

What matters is the slim cant of light from the hallway being enough for her to make out an errant strand of gold across Kara’s cheek. She smooths it away from her face and lets her fingertips linger just because she can. ‘Rest here as long as you like,’ she moves to get up from the bed.

 

‘Lena?’

 

‘Mmm?’ Lena’s fingers twitch. She tries to think back to when she hadn’t yet taught herself it was okay to reach for Kara, the way she let Kara reach for her. She thought herself a specimen of flora arching for the sun. Or like a sexy gay billionaire heiress moth to a flame.

 

_An_ incredibly _sexy gay billionaire heiress,_ she would have Kara know, if they ever had the chance.

 

‘I’m sorry we haven’t had much time for each other these past few weeks,’ Kara stifles a yawn, ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

 

Lena wonders if it’s the same kind of promise Kara made at CatCo when she decided to be honest about her preference for bedmates. ‘It’s okay, Kara. I know,’ she whispers, attempting a second retreat when Kara’s hand is suddenly around her forearm.

 

‘Wait,’ fingers drum against her skin. Kara cracks an eye open, ‘Stay?’

 

For the first time in the history of their friendship, Lena actually regrets the circumstances which led to their meeting. Because it’s inherently unfair how Kara Danvers can utter a single word, barely even a syllable, and pitch her voice just enough to fracture her heart into pieces.

 

‘Of course,’ she whispers, because she can’t stay away, won’t stay away. Not now, not ever.

 

Lena drifts off with Kara’s arm wrapped around her stomach.

 

/

 

‘Lena?’ she feels Kara cup her face, awake all of a sudden. Still, she looks criminally exhausted.

 

‘Mmm?’

 

Kara leans in, closing the distance between them. It’s sweet and chaste until it isn’t, and Lena aches in the half-darkness.

 

She thinks she sees guilt flicker across Kara’s face, but before she has a chance to question it, Kara burrows into her neck.

 

‘Was that okay?’

 

‘Yeah, Kara.’

 

‘I really missed you this week,’ Kara’s voice is low, barely even a whisper, her lips ghosting against Lena’s collarbone.

 

‘I always miss you, Kara,’ she responds, simply.

 

Kara’s phone starts buzzing.

 

‘Alex?’ she hears Kara answer, ‘What’s wrong?’ She’s slipped on both shoes and a jacket before Lena can open her mouth. The clock on her dresser reads just after two in the morning.

 

‘I have to go,’ Kara mouths, still on the phone, ‘I’m sorry.’

 

Lena lies awake thinking of all the times Lionel, and Lillian and Lex were away, when she thought she knew what loneliness meant.

 

/

 

Lena finds herself at the DEO later that week, running her hands over the burnished metal of the sunlamps Alex asked her to modify. She takes a moment to admire her handiwork before gesturing to Supergirl who is standing behind her.

 

‘All yours,’ she says, before joining Alex by the digital display. Supergirl only nods in gratitude.

 

‘She came on to me, you know,’ Lena whispers, tilting her chin towards Supergirl, who has her eyes closed. ‘Somehow she found me, even after I flew overseas on really short notice.’

 

Alex narrows her eyes before going, ‘Oh?’

 

‘I just thought you might want to know, as her handler,’ Lena states.

 

‘Yes,’ Alex chokes, ‘her… handler.’

 

‘It wasn’t unwelcome or anything. She’s actually a very good—’

 

‘Maggie!’ Alex yells across the room to where her girlfriend is sitting next to Winn. She looks green at the gills. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

 

‘Interdimensional crime-fighting computer wunderkind,’ Maggie scoffs at Winn before collecting her leather jacket and rubbing Alex’s back, ‘and you can’t win a game of Minesweeper?’

 

/

 

If she had more than one friend, Lena supposes they would definitely stage an intervention for drinking too much on balconies. They would at least try to pry her fingers from the bottle of wine long enough to get her a glass.

 

The gentle whoosh of a cape interrupts the sudden rush of affection she feels for her imaginary comrades. She turns to face her visitor.

 

‘I was in the, um, area,’ Supergirl explains, boots settling on concrete, ‘and I thought I’d drop by, see how you were doing.’

 

Lena waves at her surroundings and tries for humor, ‘Do you just fly past every night, hoping to take advantage of me while I’m intoxicated and wallowing?’

 

Supergirl opens her mouth and closes it repeatedly, and Lena resents the hopefulness which managed to creep into her words.

 

‘I think you should tell Kara how you feel,’ Supergirl leans against the balcony railing—at a polite, respectable distance this time. ‘And I don’t think it’s safe, what we’re doing, not for you and—Kara’s my friend,’ Supergirl says, as though that explains _everything_.

 

‘Maybe you should stop checking in on me so often then,’ Lena snaps, ‘I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.’

 

Supergirl looks pained when she starts to hover away.

 

‘Supergirl, wait,’ Lena grasps the end of her cape, not unlike a petulant child, and Supergirl acquiesces, mouth already searching for hers.

 

Lena knows it should feel wrong but the press of her is so familiar, so much like a salve for this heat, she can’t disentangle herself even if she tried.

 

It’s different this second time but enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

 

Then Supergirl cocks her head at her, eyes searching. ‘I have to go. I can… hear Kara on her way here.’

 

Lena is torn. _How do I explain this one?_

 

Supergirl lingers for just a little bit longer, like she can’t help herself, ‘You should, um, maybe drink more water if you’re going to keep going like that.’

 

Lena looks down at the bottle in her hand. Maybe she had some semblance self-control after all.

 

There’s no announcement because it’s almost midnight and she sent Jess home hours ago, and no knock when Kara Danvers bursts through her door, crossing the room in four quick strides.

 

She kisses Lena like she’s praying, eyes screwed shut like there’s a confession only her teeth and tongue can convey.

 

And Lena is helpless to do anything but kiss her back, allowing herself to question the integrity of her security protocols just for one second. There’s no time because Kara is laving at her neck and she can feel how slick she’s becoming, from sweat, from arousal, from the exertion of it all. Of wanting, and waiting, to finally possessing.

 

Or being possessed in this case.

 

Kara lifts her onto the desk and finds purchase in Lena’s top, unsteady fingers scrambling to undo the buttons of her blouse. A strangled cry escapes from Kara’s kiss-swollen lips, singular and comprehensible even above the friction of too many layers of clothing, and she pulls.

 

Lena hears the fabric rip and she knows her underwear is beyond saving too.

 

‘Kara, darling—’ she gasps, unsure why she’s asking Kara to at all, ‘—wait.’

 

Kara slows, just above the swell of her breast.

 

‘Not like this,’ Lena pleads, because she wants it to be different. It’s cheesy and trite, and the sudden desire for lit candles and mood music catches her by surprise because she’s convinced her family bred out the capacity for sentiment generations ago.

 

Kara’s eyes shimmer when she nods, wordless.

 

And one ripped article of clothing and discarded bobby pin at a time, sweet, wholesome Kara Danvers puts Lena Luthor back together.

 

/

 

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Lena finds herself on her desk, legs askew, self-control be damned.

 

She thinks it’s rather inconvenient, hot office sex fantasies aside, because the files and manila folders she so painstakingly arranged now lie useless on her floor. She’s a little irked because she actually needs to get work done this week and she’s tired of being pulled on both ends by Supergirl and Kara Danvers.

 

It feels all too familiar. ‘Supergirl, wait—’ she moans at the flicker of tongue on her neck, the punishing nip at her earlobe. ‘Supergirl, just—’

 

_Too familiar._

 

The realization hits her like a freight train. Nothing else can stop them except—

 

‘ _Kara,_  wait.’

 

The body undulating against hers goes still. Heavy-lidded eyes snap open. ‘Oh, fuck,’ Supergirl hisses, facade slipping quickly, ‘Ohh, fuck. Lena, I can explain.’

 

Lena ignores the throbbing between her legs as she arches an eyebrow, ‘The desk, really? Twice, in less than twenty-four hours? Was I not supposed to notice?’

 

(She tries vainly to cover her exposed chest.)

 

‘You mean, it wasn’t the glasses?’ Kara looks delighted, but stops short when Lena fixes her with a glare.

 

Kara mumbles something to her boots about ‘superheroes always having finishing moves’.

 

Lena laughs, despite herself and lets her forehead rest against Kara’s. ‘And weaknesses which lead to their undoing, apparently.’ She brushes hair back from Kara’s face, pleading, ‘No more secrets?’

 

And Kara Danvers flashes her megawatt smile, the one she knows Lena likes best.


End file.
